


"I'm coming, John"

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Death, John Watson Suicide, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, My First AO3 Post, POV Third Person, Post Reichenbach, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, TW: Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is tired of living without Sherlock Holmes... so he takes matters into his own hands.<br/>Very Romeo and Juliet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I'm coming, John"

"Five months is long enough without you!" John shouted at the nothingness. It was late, no one to hear his cries as he sat in his bedroom. "I was sure that if you were going to come back, you would have done it by now. I was sure, in the days following your funeral, that you would have come to me, telling me it was all a ruse, that you were sorry, explaining your reasoning. 

But you didn’t. The day you jumped from the top of that hospital roof was the day I died anyway. So what is the point of going on? 

I could go on for Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson. Our friends… YOUR friends. But what is the fucking point? 

Before we met, I was just kind of existing and waiting for death… and then you came along, Sherlock Holmes,” at the sound of his own voice saying his dead best friend’s name, the sobs overtook his body. Overwhelmed with emotion, he continued shouting between bouts of tears. “You changed me, you changed me for the better. You made me better. You gave me a reason to keep going, you showed me a life that was more exciting and more wonderful than I could have ever pictured. I don’t give a fuck that we faced death on a daily basis, I would give up everything I have to get you back and pick up where we left off. With all the adventures.

I miss everything! I miss you being such an annoying dick all the time, and I miss running after cabbies and chasing murderers in the street. And now it’s time. I will see you again. Somehow, if this is the only way to even have a possibility of seeing you again, this is what I’ll do. Sherlock, I love you.” It was the first time he’d said it out loud. No one to hear, he didn’t care. His voice broke off as sobs racked his body again. He brought the gun up to his head, his hands shaking violently… he couldn’t stop crying. It would be over soon… 

With one small movement of his finger, it was done. 

——

Sherlock sat next to the front door of his best friend’s flat, as he did most nights. He contemplating going in and just forgetting the rules he had set, and telling John he was alive. He hated himself for lying to John, but he knew it was the only way. Sherlock heard muffled cries belonging to his best friend in the world, and he winced, wondering what he was shouting about and wishing he could fix it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be… he wanted his friend back. He hung his head and buried his face in his hands. At the sound of a gunshot, he burst into the flat, nearly knocking the door down. He didn’t have time to think, didn’t have time to worry that he would catch his former flatmate off guard. “JOHN!” he screamed, looking around, eyes narrow, looking for the shooter… he wondered if John was allright. He saw John’s bedroom door slightly ajar and he immediately entered. 

No. 

He stumbled back, hitting the doorframe and sunk to the floor. He crawled his way over to the bed, where his best friend lay dead, blood spattered along the wall. The gun was on the floor next to him, and the way it had landed, it was obvious it had fallen out of his own hand. 

No. 

Sherlock hit his head against the wall as he wept profusely.

John Watson. Was dead.

He had no idea how much time had passed by the time he called Lestrade. He gave him the address and simply told him there were two dead bodies to collect. Sherlock hung up before questions could be asked… He hugged John’s lifeless body against his own, pressing a kiss to the bloody bullet hole in his friend’s head, then kissing him softly on the lips. He picked up the gun, “I’m coming, John” he whispered. He let one last tear escape as he shoved the barrel of the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.


End file.
